


Amongst the Roses

by UglyWettieWrites



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Hardy - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hardy gets his hug!, Imagine your OTP, Post-Canon Fix-It, ellie miller - Freeform, hardy x miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: [Set some time after the series finale]After the rape case is settled, Hardy and Miller have settled into a rhythm, both at work and in their personal life. She busts his chops. He takes it. And they continue to take care of each other.After Ellie's latest surprise set-up attempt for a surly Hardy, difficult truths come to light. But, both of them have been through far worse, right?





	Amongst the Roses

**Author's Note:**

> After A Thing With Feathers, I decided to give writing a Hardy and Miller fic another try. It's just as angsty as can be expected for Broadchurch, but these two deserve all the happiness and love. And regardless of a puzzling ending, I think they are good for each other, and that they will see it too.

“But she has blond hair,” Ellie said as she rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” he said, frustrated.

“You like it,” she said, shrugging.

“Just because the last one had it, doesn’t mean it’s an obsession,” he said, flushed.

“Whatever. She’s been a mate since school, and she was one of the prettiest girls I know. Everyone was mad for her then. She’s still gorgeous.”

He put his hand on her wrist, stilling her. Ellie’s eyes widened, but she did not shake him off. His touch was warm, his grip firm. It was the first time since her husband that a man who wasn’t her father had touched her with any kind of urgency.

“It’s too soon,” he said. She looked down at his hand, wrapped so easy around her wrist. He let go, feeling self-conscious. “It was Daisy’s idea to see her. I gave it a try, but I’m not ready.”

Oddly, she insisted. “But it’s been nearly four years,” she said. “Aren’t you burs-” she stopped abruptly as she noticed the pink spreading in his cheeks. She was going to ask whether he was bursting after going without for so long. But hadn’t she gone without as long as him?

That one-night stand at the cottage did **not** count. 

She scrubbed aggressively at the roasting pan and resisted the urge to run upstairs and curse and kick things. Maybe this was a bad idea. Why had she gotten involved? She still felt the fading heat of his touch on her skin, even though her hands were immersed in hot water.

“Thank you for dinner. As for her, you put me in an awkward spot,” he said.

“Don’t you worry yourself. She told me it was a no-go before she walked out.”

His cheek twitched. She was too blunt sometimes.

“You’re better off. She used to be a bit of a slag,” she said. Her eyes burned. She wasn’t one to slutshame, but she had slept with two guys that she confessed she liked in school. Not one, but two. Still, they occasionally had brunch, or a playdate with the children. She had been no great beauty in secondary school. She didn’t blame her.

“I should be going,” he said, giving her a lingering look. The warm light in the kitchen hit her curls and gave her a golden halo. Her brown eyes were jewel-like with nervous tears. He hated making her feel bad. More and more.

“I packed Daisy some leftovers,” she said, pointing to a foil-covered plate on the counter. “She likes roast, right?”

“Loves it,” he said. Daisy didn’t like beef, but it didn’t matter - he meant to eat every bite. Ellie’s cooking was delicious, most days.

She dried her hands and walked him to the door. He stood outside awkwardly and put his hands in pockets.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. “I’m … I’m sorry I’m such a twat sometimes.”

She leaned against the threshold and smiled at him. Just as she did, the wind blew the scent of her roses to him. The sudden, intense quivering of his heart made him look down at his shoes.

“Just as long as you recognize it,” she said, joking. “Her loss anyway.”

He guffawed. “Uhuh. Shitface is at it again,” he said, trying to keep the mood going. He might want to stay at her open door forever.

She wrinkled her nose. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It wasn’t right.”

“Being honest?” he said, leaning into the other side of the door.

“It’s cruel. And stupid. And bloody immature, to be honest,” she said, waving it away.

“I was an asshole,” he said, shrugging. “The stress was killing me.”

“You were doing too much. Claire was an ungrateful bitch,” she said. He took a step back. Again, she spoke too frankly, but who cares. She couldn’t confess to the tiny, sharp stab of jealousy she felt when she first saw Claire, secreted away at that idyllic cottage at such great expense by him. She nearly killed Hardy with her twisted seduction game. But who could resist a pretty face, and those doe eyes? 

Even she had been sucked in … for a bit. 

“Fun fact: she was a shitty hairdresser,” she said, resisting the urge to twist her mouth. He was surprised by her bitterness, but could he blame her? She had suffered Claire’s lies as well, but for far less time. Ellie was clever enough to sift through the emotional detritus he couldn’t bear to touch and solve the goddamned mystery in weeks.

He owed her his life. Perhaps not physically, but in every other significant way.

“I’m sorry,” He didn’t know what else to say.

“For what?”

“That I threw you in the middle of that,” he said. “That you did what you did to gain her trust, and get to the truth.” He looked down at his feet again, and there was a funny energy in the air.

“It wasn’t so hard. She didn’t think me a threat. It’s my go-to in with women like her,” she said. He couldn’t know. It was impossible. 

“What’s all this,” she said, suddenly anxious. She waggled her finger at him. “What are you talking about? I did my job.”

“You went above and beyond,” he said. 

Her heart was dropping in slow motion.

“Don’t try to be mysterious. As much as you might insist on it, it does not suit you.”

“I know about that girl’s night. And the drinking. And the men.”

“Fuck!” she said, and slapped the door. Gladly, her boys were gone. “Fuckfuckfuck-”

He grabbed her hands and pressed them to her chest. “Stop it!” His eyes were filled with concern. She tried to fight him, but he held on.

“How do you know?” Her pretty face was mottled and red. He couldn’t tell whether it was rage or shame. Or both.

He sighed. “Claire called me at two AM. 999, so I answered. And she told me. That very night.” He didn’t tell her that she had been lurid with her details, and gone on for five minutes about frenzied kissing in the cab and her loud moans and groans drifting through the cottage walls. Claire said Ellie was a wanton slut, grabbing the strange man’s cock on their way home. She said Ellie couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom, and she got on her knees for him in the sitting room.

Claire had said many things, but Claire was a liar. Still, it made him feel weird. How about if it was true? Ellie was a fiery woman whose life had imploded in the worst way. Maybe she deserved to have some fun. It was far more than he could give her at the time, anyway. All he gave her were long silences, and his burdens.

A solitary tear dripped down her cheek, but her jaw was clenched against the sob that made her chest burn.

“That cunt,” she said softly. Although his gaze warmed her face, she couldn’t look at him.

“You’re a grown woman. It happens every day,” he said, trying to comfort her.

“Not to me. I don’t do that.” She ripped her hands away and tried to close the door, but he slid back inside.

“Fuck off, Hardy,” she said, walking to the kitchen. She yanked open the garden door and was lost in the jungle of overgrown roses. He stood at the door and looked into the darkness.

Her garden was messy, since Joe had been the one to tend to it. Since then, no one bothered. The nearly rotted out trellis was bowed over with the weight of roses in full bloom. The scent was so strong it made him woozy.

When he heard the first strangled sob, he stepped outside and followed the sound. Thorns caught at his sleeves, and dried leaves and petals crunched under his shoes, releasing the scent of decaying sweetness.

“Miller?” he said, and nearly fell over as he walked into a little clearing in the wall of wild roses. She sat on the ground, yanking tufts of overgrown grass and throwing it. She wept, her lower lip quivering like a child’s.

“Go away, Shitface,” she said, but she was too weak to do more than cry.

He knelt beside her, his face a mask of sympathy. Again, he upset her. He fought the urge to run the other way and ghosted his hands over her tear-wet cheeks.

“Please don’t cry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said, sitting down. She sniffled and threw a clump of grass at him.

“What does it matter? You know. I don’t know why I thought she’d keep such a juicy tidbit to herself,” she said, and wept harder. “Jesus, I’m an idiot. A stupid, gross idiot.” She lay back. Her tears blurred the starlight. “I shouldn’t have gotten so involved, but I was desperate for validation. I felt it, as it was happening -”

“I hit on Becca Fisher,” Hardy said, cutting her off.

She stopped rambling and sat up. “What?”

“When I was still at the inn. I passed out, and she told the paramedics she was my wife, and sat with me for a bit at the hospital. I was desperate, and miserable, and I thought I was gonna die. So I did it.”

“Jesus,” Ellie said. 

“Obviously, it was a humiliating disaster. She laughed at me. Tried to cover it up with some excuse about my heart, but she was horrified,” he said. The words spilled out of his mouth quickly. 

“Oh my God,” she said. She stared at him. “Becca Fisher?”

“Yes,” he said, hugging his knees. The seat of his pants started to get damp.

“Becca Fisher… ” The vicar isn’t the only one who had a go at her before she left town. She wasn’t terribly picky, but she did tend to prefer unavailable men.

“Maybe she said no because you were divorced,” she said. It was a weird way to lighten the mood, but she had nothing else.

“She dated the vicar,” he said.

“The vicar’s first love is Christ. She was merely his mistress,” she said. A corner of her mouth curled up.

“Sure,” he said, but the storm was over. He felt it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said, biting her lip.

“Thanks, but it’s not news. Just another spectacular failure in a life filled with them.”

“You’re not Shitface,” she said. 

“You’re gonna draft the memo at work then?”

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Ooh. Choice words for your esteemed colleagues in law enforcement,” he said, plucking a rose from nearby plant. He hissed as a thorn ripped open his index finger.

“Silly bitch,” Ellie said, referring to the flower. She pulled a hankie from her cleavage and wrapped it around his finger. Her face still shone with tears. “What are you thinking, grabbing at thorn bushes in the dark?”

“But it’s a pretty flower,” he said. The rose was cupped in his palm.

“They’re a pain, is what they are,” she said, and stood up. “I’m tempted to rip every single one out by the roots.” She extended her hand to help him. He took it, and groaned dramatically as he rose. They walked quietly back to the kitchen. They stood there in silence for several seconds. He held up his finger.

“You carry handkerchiefs. How old-fashioned,” he said. The peach-colored cloth was dotted with his blood.

“I did it ever since Tom was born. Babies have all sorts of things coming out of them from both ends,” she said. “Freddie’s growing now, but it’s a habit.”

He looked over her shoulder at the garden.“Don’t rip it out,” he said.

She poured herself a glass of wine, and wiggled the bottle at him. He shook his head no.

“It was Joe’s, mostly. His gift to me when we first moved in. He said I was like them - prickly but pretty.” She gulped the wine, then cleared her throat. “That all seems like another life now. I can’t go out there. Even the smell makes me ill.”

“Roses are hard to take care of, but they’re worth it. Maybe you can get a gardener in,” he said. 

“Shall I tell my housekeeper to ring one straightaway?” she said in a posh accent.

Ellie smiled at Hardy’s flushing cheeks. He was so serious, but few people knew he toppled in a light breeze. His freckles were insufferably cute. She never thought she’d find freckles endearing on a grown man, but here she was, high on wine and post-crying endorphins, considering giving that prickly ass a hug.

“Freddie likes ‘em,” she said. “I won’t go on any wine-fueled plant murdering sprees any time soon.”

Hardy’s phone beeped. He looked quickly. It was Daisy, wondering how it went. 

“You told her, didn’t you?” he said to Ellie, eyes narrowed to slits.

Ellie chuckled.

“No wonder she was so preoccupied with me wearing a clean shirt and tie,” he said, shaking his head. “Both of you are bound to torture me to madness.”

She shrugged, and sighed. “The sitter will be dropping off Tom and Freddie soon.”

“Don’t you usually pick them up?” he said.

She wiggled the half-empty wine bottle again. “I figured I’d enjoy myself regardless tonight.”

He took the bottle and corked it. “Don’t drink when you’re sad. It breeds bad habits.” He thought back on his father, and sadness made his throat tight.

She downed the rest of the wine in her glass and put it in the dishwasher and leaned on the counter. He looked at her. Her long lashes were still stuck together with tears. They were standing across from each other, comfortable in the silence.

She perked up suddenly. “I’ll have that hug now,” she said. She didn’t look at him, but her arms were extended. He blinked. Was she playing with him? Her arms were steady, but her hands trembled.

He fixed his tie, he didn’t know why, then stepped into her arms. She wrapped her arms around his slim waist and squeezed. He leaned into her and squeezed harder, rocking gently back and forth, breathing the wine fumes and flowers in her hair.  He hiccuped, suddenly, and she felt it. She felt everything - the dampness from the garden, his russety skin scent and his persistent, comforting warmth. She hid her burning face on his shoulder. He held her tightly. He was stronger than he looked. And surprisingly, there was no awkwardness in his touch.

His phone beeped again. Daisy was desperate for news. He wouldn’t have much to tell her.

“Alright, enough of that,” she said, but she extricated herself reluctantly from his arms. She smoothed her blouse and wished he hadn’t corked the wine.

“Long time coming,” he said, trolling her.

“Pfft,” she said, slamming the dishwasher closed and starting it.

“I know I’m some kind of freak of nature who balks at human contact, but not everyone is like that. If you ever need to … do that again, let me know.”

She kicked off her shoes and walked him to the door. The plate with the leftover food sat on a tiny iron table holding a wilting hosta plant.

“You want a fresh plate?” she said.

“Naw. Daisy doesn’t like beef anyway,” he said. “But it was good. Everything was good.”

She hugged herself and nodded. “Thanks, Hardy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She closed the door slowly and walked back to the kitchen for the wine bottle. She waited until the sound of his car engine disappeared, and took it in her hands. It was still half full. If she emptied it, she would sleep a dreamless sleep.

Her eyes drifted to a splash of yellow on the counter - the rose he picked at his own peril. It looked so fresh and lovely on the worn wood of the cutting board. She put down the bottle and picked it up. The stem was smooth save for a solitary leaf - he had pulled off every single thorn. But when? She hadn’t noticed a thing.

He was a mysterious one, that Hardy.

She filled a glass with water and put the rose in it. Bright, sunny yellow. It was a present when Joe gave them to her. But now, it felt like a promise. Warmth seemed to radiate from it. A thornless rose. She walked to the stairs and looked up. Her bedroom was blue, but cool. Sometimes too cool. At first that was comforting, but her limbs were beginning to crave warmth

[warmth, like Hardy’s warmth, hard-won but sincere]

She blushed, and was glad no one was there to see. The hug was good. Really good. She realized she was slightly dazed not on wine, but on it. But again, there was no one there to see, and to judge, or force her into some emotional revelation. She went back to the kitchen and grabbed the rose, then put it on her bedside table. She lay on her side and looked at it. A simple beauty, with the prickly bits silently trimmed away by fearless, gentle hands.

She smiled, slowly, and dared to caress one of the petals.

Foolhardy twat. 


End file.
